The season is shifting here in the canyon. I can feel it in the absence of the marine layer when we drop our kids off at school. I hear it in the chorus of creek frogs at night. And I see it in the fading colors of all the wild flowers in the canyon. Growing up in Japan, I was used to having rain sprinkling throughout the year. To me, humidity, warm rain showers, the intense sound of cicadas filling the air when blue sky felt infinite, and lush greenery covering every single inch of unoccupied surface used to signify summer, and perhaps my childhood, the simpler times. I remember being surprised by the dryness of the summer and the fall when we first moved to California in 1995.
The dry and wet seasons are starkly contrasted here in Southern California… and we are definitely getting a glimpse of a long, hot, and dry summer ahead. Mango and I have done a lot of trail strolling this spring, usually going back to the same trail and the same spot over and over. Along the way, we made many friends like the fragrance of Ceanothus blooms, the delicate bunch of elder flowers, the brighter than sunshine canyon sunflowers’ petals, and the trellis of wild cucumber leaves. Each time we visit, I would notice something different about them and stop and acknowledge the change… usually making our walk so much longer than it might be otherwise. I am grateful that Mango is very patient with me.
And it’s a beautiful process to slow down to build a relationship with wild ones. They don’t judge you for how slow you move through the world. They are always okay with the complexities of our emotions. And if you are open to sitting with them, they will always give you wise guidance just when you need it.
So this in-between season of spring and summer, I keep strolling with Mango—on a misty day, under a cool marine layer, in the morning heatwave that feels almost a bit too uncomfortable… all of it.
Today, I see all the spring flowers slowly shifting from their vital colors of pink, purple, yellow, and blue to a paler and drier complexion. Of course, I am deeply sad to say goodbye to those flowers, especially since I thought I would never see them again last year when we were preparing to leave the canyon… Returning to the canyon this past Fall and breathing the canyon air alongside these flowers meant a lot to me.
As humans, we don’t always contribute to the works of the natural ecosystem like our animal kin does… If anything, we seem to be the ones who are negatively affecting them. But if we stroll on the trail slowly and gently as a friend, perhaps what we can do is to tell them that these paler flower colors are just as beautiful as those that attract and dazzle their companion pollinators at the peak of their bloom. We can draw and paint them in our sketchbooks to remember those moments we sat with them, and share their stories with friends and family. We can remind ourselves that to feel sad for wildflowers, shifting away from our lives, is the result of how much we love them. It’s a reminder that our deep joy comes from knowing the existence of deep grief, and we wouldn’t live our lives in any other way…
On the next few hikes, I know I will tell them that I will still visit them even when they become dry shrubs under the intense heat of California Summer and that I will be waiting for them on the other side of the season when they are ready to bloom again.
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